Krevlorneswath, formerly of the
Deathwok Clan and now the Host of Caritas, loved the
stage. He loved the beat of the music, the adulation of
the crowd, the way the stage lights brought out the green
of his skin. Truth be told, he loved being the centre of
attention. He was what they call a born entertainer.

Grinning from ear to ear,
microphone in one hand, Lorne was singing his heart out
and relishing every minute of it.

'Fill my heart with song,' he
sang (talk about appropriate lyrics, he joked to
himself), 'and let me swing forevermore. You are all I
long for - yes you are - all I worship and adore. In
other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.
And you. And all of you. You're a wonderful audience.
Give yourselves all a round of applause.'

The music came to an end, but
Lorne could hardly tell beyond all of the clapping and
yelling and the stamping of feet. He bowed and let the
moment linger for a while.

He gestured to a furry Queska
demon to come on stage. It bounded up behind him, wagging
its tail eagerly.

'Next up, for your auditory
delight, we have an old favourite that I know you all
love just as much as I do. Ladies and gentleman, it's
Meko!'

The audience hooted and Lorne
made his exit, stage left. Meko was a regular at Caritas
and something of a rarity here, being a karaoke singer
who could actually sing. Several of the regulars were in
this evening and it looked set to be a terrific night.

Lorne settled down on one of the
barstools to listen to Meko's spirited rendition of 'I
Will Survive'.

Arvin, the barman, put a
Seabreeze down in front of Lorne.

'Honey, you're an angel,' Lorne
said before taking a sip.

That was good. If there was one
thing he insisted on with his bar staff, it was the
ability to make a decent Seabreeze. Lorne pinched the
bridge of his nose. Much as he was loving tonight, all of
the activity was taking its toll. There was only so much
one demon could do, no matter how loveable he might be.
He was glad that, so far at least, none of his customers
had asked him to do a reading. That really would take it
out of him.

Of course, he could not always
control his ability to read people and Meko was
broadcasting loud and clear. He frowned as he brain
shuffled through the images he was picking up on. Then he
turned to the barman.

'Arvin, sweetheart,' he said, 'I
think I'm going to need a phone.'

* * *

Angel was not a big fan of
distractions and the cell-phone was definitely a
distraction. He missed the good old days when a man could
go out for a walk and be, for a while at least,
incommunicado. He was nostalgic for a time when you could
only be contacted by phone if you were at home or by
letter, preferably delivered by a man on horseback. But
Cordelia had insisted he carry the phone and, despite
himself, Angel could see the advantages. He just did not
like it very much.

'Lorne,' Angel said, 'now is not
exactly a good time.'

'Well, I'm sorry to be such a
pain in the posterior, cupcake,' Lorne retorted, 'but I
thought I was doing you a favour. I run an entertainment
establishment, saving the world's just a sidebar for me,
not a career choice. But, you know, I'm not exactly
unwilling to lend a hand when the going gets tough and
the tough get all dark and brooding. Or more brooding
than usual anyway. Is it too much to ask for a little
show of appreciation every now and then?'

Angel fought not to sigh as he
swung the car round a corner. Tyres screeched.

'Is there a point, Lorne?' he
asked.

'Oh, there's a point all right,
sugarplum,' Lorne replied, 'a very sharp, gouge someone's
eye out sort of point. Say the point of one of those
magic swords you and the rest of the Merry Men have been
trying to track down.'

'Go on,' Angel prompted.

'I was reading this demon at the
club,' Lorne explained. 'Nothing new there right. Anyway,
I wouldn't normally divulge a reading like this. It's
kind of a doctor/patient thing. Maybe more priest/sinner,
thinking about it. The point is, this guy was feeling
blue, like
tear-your-heart-out-and-bury-it-in-the-farthest-corner-of-the-garden
blue. Seems some guy had stolen his favourite magic
sword, some demon guy. And given your current obsession
with magical weaponry - which, I must say, is a step up
from the usual vampire bloodlust, but still falling short
of a decent Sinatra-worshipping type obsession - I
figured you'd want to know about it.

The blade of the sword struck
the top of the windshield, raising sparks. Angel dropped
the phone.

'So, on top of everything else,
you're a thief,' Angel said to the demon currently riding
his bonnet like a surfboard. 'Somebody's been a really
bad boy.'

Angel had got lucky while out on
patrol. He was trying to spot any signs of the unusually
high volume of magical weapons that had been appearing on
L.A.'s streets. What with Wesley working his network of
informants and Gunn, Fred and Cordy out on assignment,
that had left Angel to do some legwork. Or tyre -work, in
this case.

He had potted the demon several
blocks back, showing off his shiny new weapon. Angel had
decided to follow him, see if he could pick up any
information that would lead him to the demon's supplier,
but he obviously was not as stealthy as he thought he
was. Was he losing his edge?

The demon swung the sword again
and Angel had to scrunch down in his seat to avoid being
decapitated.

'Hey, watch the hair,' he
protested.

Angel yanked on the handbrake
and the tyres squealed as the car suddenly pulled to a
halt. Angel was thrown forward, but only slightly, held
in place as he was by his seat belt. The demon, with no
such restraint, flew off of the bonnet and landed in the
road some distance away.

Angel snapped the belt open and
vaulted out of his car. The demon picked itself up and
levelled its sword, ready to attack. Angel circled him,
warily, looking for an opening. The demon lunged and
Angel vamped out, catching the blade of the sword between
the palms of his hands. He grinned, showing off his
fangs, before flexing his arms and flinging the demon
away from him. The demon somersaulted end over end, but
still managed to land on its back hooves. It took one
last look at the vampire's flashing yellow eyes and then
turned and ran.

Angel swore and gave chase. The
demon was fast, faster than something built like a tank
should be. Angel was fast too, but he could only manage
to keep pace with his quarry, not close the gap.

The demon kept glancing
nervously over its shoulder. They were outside the city
proper and there was a shortage of people and traffic to
obstruct the chase. Up ahead was a large house, shielded
from the road by a tall gate set in a large wall.
Lowering its head, the demon charged the gate, smashing
it off of its hinges. Security guards tried to stop it,
but were batted out of the demon's way. Then the guards
spotted Angel.

'I don't have time for this,'
Angel muttered, before leaping over the wall, right over
the heads of the guards.

The gravel drive was full of
cars and the sounds of a party resonated out from the big
house. Angel did not have time to pay the much heed,
however. His focus was on the demon and the sword. He
jumped up on to the roof of one of the cars and then
threw himself in a football tackle at the demon. His arms
wrapped around the demon's waist as the impact carried
them both threw a large window in a shower of broken
glass.

* * *

David Nabbit was in heaven; one
look at the gorgeous woman on his arm confirmed that.

'Can I get you anything?' he
asked Cordelia Chase.

'I'm fine. Really.' Cordelia
replied.

For one brief terrifying moment,
David thought he might have offended her with his
over-attentiveness, but then Cordelia flashed him a
dazzling smile and his heart melted. He still could not
believe that this woman was his date for the evening.
Well, technically she was here on business, David
conceded to himself, but he was allowed to dream.

It had started earlier that day
when he had paid a visit to the offices of Angel
Investigations.

'David, Hi!' Cordelia had said
as David descended the steps into the hotel lobby.

'Cordelia,' David replied,
nervously returning her smile. He had to admit, if only
to himself, that Cordelia was the main reason he kept in
contact with Angel Investigations.

'David,' Wesley said, stepping
out of his office, 'this is an unexpected pleasure.'

'Man probably just wants to hear
some more of our war stories, right?' Gunn said as he
descended the stairs accompanied by a tiny woman David
did not recognise.

That was the other reason David
like Angel Investigations. It gave him a chance to be
part of a world of magic and adventure that was usually
just confined to the gaming table.

'I don't believe you've met the
newest addition to our staff,' Wesley said to David while
indicating the woman with Gunn. 'David Nabbit, this is
Winifred Burkle.'

'Very well then,' Wesley
announced authoritatively. 'It looks like Cordelia will
be attending the party with you, David. And so will
Gunn.'

'I will? Gunn said.

'If things get nasty then
they'll need you,' Wesley explained.

'That's just great,' David said,
clapping his hands together. 'Terrific. Now all we've got
to do is find you some costumes.'

'Costumes?' Gunn echoed.

And from there it was only a
brief step up to cloud nine, which is where David was
now, at one of Mason's exclusive parties with the world's
most beautiful princess on his arm. What could possibly
spoil this moment?

That was when the window caved
in.

* * *

Charles Gunn hated parties.
Sure, his old crew could get down with the best of them,
if they chose, but there was not much call for partying
back there. This was celebration for its own sake, a
chance for those with to try and impress the others with,
those without not invited. And if there was one thing
Gunn hated than a rich guy's part, it was a rich guy's
fancy dress party. And who's idea had it been for him to
go as a barbarian warrior anyway?

The logic behind it - which
Wesley had explained to him at some length - was simple.
This way, Gunn had an excuse to carry a weapon into the
party. And, from a purely practical point of view, Gunn
could not complain that the outfit was uncomfortable and,
given the heating in this place, it was not nearly as
draughty as it looked. But Gunn still felt like a
first-class idiot in this get-up. He had almost caught
Wes laughing at him earlier on when he came downstairs in
the outfit, but English had been quick to compose
himself. Fred had said that he looked handsome, but Gunn
was sure she was only humouring him. Fred was sweet that
way.

Or maybe she was on to something
after all, given the way that brunette in the
warrior-princess outfit with the very short skirt
was eyeing him up.

'Hey, handsome,' she purred as
she sashayed over to him.

'Hey,' Gunn managed in response.

She had stepped in close to him,
right inside his personal space. It was clear that she
knew exactly what she was doing and Gunn did not know how
to - politely - tell her to back off.

'So, is that an axe in your
pocket or are you just pleased to see me,' the woman said
softly, huskily.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce stood aside
as Gunn kicked open the locked door. He knew Gunn had to
get ready for the party that evening, but right now he
needed Gunn's muscle for their other case.

Angel had noticed it at first,
the way in which more and more demons they fought seemed
to come armed with magic weapons. Given time to look over
their recent cases, Fred had confirmed it as a
statistical fact. Regular demons were problem enough. The
last thing Los Angeles needed right now was an influx of
demons with artefact weaponry, They needed to find out
who was supplying them and put a stop to it. Quickly.

While Angel hit the streets,
Wesley had lit a fire under his informant network and
diligence had won out. A lead pointed him in the
direction of an old associate of his, Father Stefan
Carmichael of the Church of St Andrew. Today was Father
Carmichael's afternoon at the gym so Wesley had offered
himself up as the priest's opponent in a game of squash.

Wesley was, unfortunately, out
of practice. Father Carmichael, he soon discovered, was
not.

Nearly stumbling over his own
feet, Wesley hopped to one side and hammered the ball
back at the wall with the head of his racket. Smiling the
whole time, Father Carmichael took one stepped forward
and backhanded the projectile as it ricocheted towards
him. Grimacing, Wesley lunged forward, skidding on the
smooth floor. His racket managed to connect with the
ball, but his feet slid out from under him and he ended
up on his back. Father Carmichael gently knocked the ball
back at the wall, knowing that Wesley had no hope of
returning it, before offering Wesley a hand up.

'My point again, I believe,' he
said.

'I think I'm going to have to
conceded defeat on that one,' Wesley agreed, wiping the
sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

'Another game?' Father
Carmichael asked.

'Maybe when I get my breath
back,' Wesley gasped, 'about three years from now.'

Father Carmichael laughed.

'So, you wanted to talk to me
then, Wesley,' he prompted.

'Yes, that's right,' Wesley
agreed, propping himself up against a wall. 'I wanted to
ask you about the Glaive of Neimak.'

'What about it?' Father
Carmichael asked. His voice was calm, but he had turned
away so that Wesley could not read his reaction on his
face.

'It used to be kept in your
church vault, I believe,' Wesley continued, 'except it
appears to be missing.'

'It's not missing,' Father
Carmichael replied, stooping to retrieve the squash ball.

'Really?' Wesley replied. 'Then
perhaps you could tell me where it is, as one friend to
another, hm?'

'We sold it.'

Wesley was incredulous. 'You
sold a mystic artefact?'

Father Carmichael frowned. 'Now
you know I don't buy into all that magic mumbo-jumbo,
Wesley. That thing was an antique, nothing more.'

'That thing, as you put it, is a
very powerful mystical weapon,' Wesley corrected him,
'and very dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands. Do
you realise what you've done?'

'Wesley,' Father Carmichael said
coldly, 'we've been friends for some time, but that does
not give you the right to pass judgement on my actions.
Once we established that the glaive was of no Christian
significance, there was no reason to hang on to it and
the proceeds from its sale helped finance essential
repairs to the church roof. What would you have me do,
save the glaive or my church?'

'It was sold via an agent,'
Father Carmichael replied. 'That's all I know.'

'I'm going to need a name,
Stefan,' Wesley said.

The name Father Carmichael had
given him had led Wesley to this shop and its proprietor,
Lucius Grey. Wesley had encountered Lucius before. He was
a fixer, someone you came to with a problem who would
then supply you with whatever you needed, given enough
time. Lucius was well connected, exceptionally so, and
would have been a valuable addition to Wesley's informant
network, except that Wesley would not even trust the
demon to give him the correct time.

'Hey, you better be paying
that,' Lucius squeaked as he indicated the door with a
paw.

It looked as if Lucius was
cowering behind the counter, but Wesley knew better. The
demon was just not tall enough to see over the top.
Lucius stepped up on to a box and peered over the top.

'I don't think that will be
necessary,' Wesley said, holding up a hand. 'I'll just
call the charming Mr Grey's wife and let her know about
his visits to Madame Dorion's.'

'You wouldn't dare,' Lucius
said.

Wesley pulled out his
cell-phone. 'Try me.'

'Fine, okay,' Lucius flustered.
'I hate doing business with you.'

'Likewise,' Wesley replied with
a grim smile.

'There,' Lucius said, handing
over a thick stack of papers, 'now get out of my sight.'

'So what's this Madame
Dorion's?' Gunn asked as they stepped outside.

'Well, everyone has to make a
living,' Wesley replied, 'even demons. And certain demons
do so by selling themselves.'

'You mean ' Gunn's eyes
went wide.

'Quite,' Wesley said as they
reached the car.

'Just one thing, English,' Gunn
said, 'how come you know so much about this Madame
Dorion's anyhow?'

* * *

Winifred Burkle let the door to
the hotel swing shut behind her with a loud thunk. What
she needed now was a long soak in the bath followed by a
nice soft bed.

Wesley looked up from where he
sat surrounded by papers.

'How did it go?' he asked.

'Fine,' Fred replied. 'Just
fine.'

Wesley had not wanted her to go
on the assignment at all, but Fred had insisted. She
wanted, no, she needed to feel a part of the team. And
that meant taking on cases. What with Cordy and Gunn
going to that party with Mr Nabbit and Angel and Wesley
looking into that business with the magic weapons, she
was the only one left.

But Wesley did not think that
she was ready yet.

'Wesley,' she protested, 'I want
to do this.'

'I know you do, Fred,' he
replied patiently, 'but it could be dangerous and you'll
be on your own.'

So, reluctantly, they had
allowed her to go and investigate the haunting at the
Addams' house.

Fred was not scared of ghosts.
Cordelia, she knew, even lived with a ghost, though Fred
had yet to pluck up the nerve to go and meet him. As a
child, she had always been a little disappointed that
their house was not haunted. She had imagined having a
ghost as a best friend. But that was just fantasy. She
had never really, if she was being honest, expected to
meet a real live (okay, dead) ghost. And the thought that
she might be about to put butterflies in her stomach.
Lots of them.

Mrs Addams led the way inside.
She was a frail woman, almost bent double by age, who
supported herself with a cane.

'What seems to be the problem,
Mrs Addams?' Fred asked. It was cold inside the house,
colder than it had been standing on the stoop outside,
and Fred rubbed her arms to keep warm. It was dark inside
too, and Fred could see cobwebs on the ceiling. Maybe Mrs
Addams could not get up there to clean, she reasoned. And
there was a smell about this place, as well, like
something had curled up in a corner and died. Fred
decided it probably was not polite to mention it and
soldiered on regardless.

Three long knives floated out of
a wooden block and hovered in mid-air. Then they flew
across the room in Fred's direction. Fred screamed and
ran from the room. The knives shot past her head and
embedded themselves in the kitchen door. Fred ran,
panicked, searching for somewhere to hide. She pulled
open the first door she came to. It was a closet and
there was something in there, something large that was
falling out towards Fred. She jumped aside, still
screaming.

'Whatever is the matter, dear?'
Mrs Addams asked from the other end of the hall.

Fred bit down on her lower lip
and forced herself to regain her composure. She looked at
the thing on the floor. Then she looked at Mrs Addams.
Then she took another look at the thing on the floor.

'Um, Mrs Addams,' she began, 'I
think you might want to take a look at this.'

Mrs Addams hobbled over to take
a look at her corpse.

'Oh my word,' she exclaimed.

The hallway filled with the
sound of Mr Addams' cackling laugh.

'You always said I'd talk you to
death,' he crowed. 'Guess you were right after all.'

'Maybe I should call her
anyway,' Fred suggested. 'Do you keep her number
anywhere?'

'The address book is on the
bookcase in the living-room,' Mr Addams told her.

'Right, well, I'll just be
through here then,' Fred replied, wanting to put as much
space between her and the ghosts as possible and
wondering how she was ever going to explain this to
Kimberley Addams.

In short, the situation had been
a mess, but fine seemed an adequate enough appraisal for
Wesley.

'I doubt we'll be getting paid,
though,' she added.

'Mm-hmm,' Wesley murmured
distractedly.

'What are you looking at?' Fred
asked, crossing the lobby and sitting down beside Wesley.

'I've found the agent who's
supplying the weapons to the demons,' Wesley explained,
'but I still need to find out where he's getting them
from. His supplier list goes on for seventeen pages.'

'Couldn't you just ask the agent
himself?' Fred suggested.

'Lucius has an uncanny inability
to tell the truth,' Wesley replied. 'We could be here
till Christmas sorting through his deceptions. Believe it
or not, this way is actually quicker.'

'If you say so,' Fred said
sceptically. She picked up one of the sheets of paper.
'That's odd.'

There were times when Cordelia
Chase knew that she had come a very long way since her
days as the spoiled rich bitch of Sunnydale High. And
then there were times like now when she thought that
maybe she had not changed a bit. She still loved the
smell of money. And there was plenty of that on display
tonight. So, sure, she would go back to her day job of
saving the world first thing in the morning, but she was
allowed to indulge for one night.

Plus, this princess costume was
something else. Looking at David, you would not think he
was much of a clothes man, certainly not in that wizard's
get-up he was wearing now, but she could not fault the
outfit he had picked out for her. And sure, she could
have pulled off that warrior-princess outfit the woman on
Gunn's arm was wearing, but why would she want to. You
had to be pretty desperate to flash that much skin,
right, and Cordelia Chase was not desperate. Much.

Mason Klein - who, Cordelia had
to keep reminding herself, was the reason she was here -
was sitting in a corner looking distraught.

'Do you think we should check on
him?' Cordelia suggested to David.

'That's probably best,' David
conceded. 'Mason does tend to get overwrought.'

Just great, Cordelia thought to
herself as she glided across the room, determined to make
every other woman there jealous, but fearing that Angel's
entrance may have distracted attention elsewhere. That
was just like him.

Mason was clutching a drink and
muttering to himself.

'Are you okay?' Cordelia asked,
putting a hand on his shoulder.

Mason jumped and Cordelia had
take a couple of hurried steps back so that his drink did
not go all over her dress.

'You don't mind if I have one,
do you?' Mason asked. He had already poured himself a
large glass.

'No, no, of course not,' David
and Cordelia said in unison.

Mason drained the glass.

'I'm just a little on edge is
all,' he said. 'Having demons try to kill you will do
that to a guy, I suppose. And you need to work harder?'

'I do?' David said, bewildered.

'The monsters in your games are
nowhere near as scary as the real thing.'

The two men laughed and Cordelia
experimented with a faintly amused smile.

'So, have you any idea why these
things are after you?' she asked Mason.

Mason shook his head.

'None whatsoever.'

'You don't remember cheating
us?' A voice like a rumble of thunder echoed through the
room. 'Are we so insignificant? You will pay for your
insult with your life.'

'Where are you?' Mason asked,
backing towards the wall.

Cordelia saw it first.

'Look out!'

An arm snaked out of the wall
and wrapped itself around Mason's through. Then the rest
of the demon stepped away from the wall. Around the room,
three other demons stepped away from the walls as well.
The skin was the same green colour of the paint, but now
they were out of hiding, it darkened almost to black.

David stepped between Cordelia
and the advancing demons, raising his wizardly staff as
he did so.

'Stay behind me, Cordelia,' he
said. 'I won't let anyone hurt you.'

'David, this isn't one of your
games,' Cordelia told him.

'I know,' David replied, 'but I
don't want you to get hurt.'

'I don't want you to get hurt
either,' Cordelia said.

'Don't worry,' Angel said as he
strode through the doorway. 'It's not going to happen.'

A bolt flew from the crossbow
Wesley was holding and impaled the demon attacking Mason
between the eyes. The head of Gunn's axe landed in the
chest of a second demon and Angel, now showing his game
face, snapped the neck of a third with his bare hands.

The fourth was still advancing
on Cordelia and David. David raised his staff and brought
it down hard on the demon's skull. The staff snapped in
two.'

'This isn't good, is it,' he
said.

The demon snarled.

Cordelia lunged forward, scooped
up on of the broken halves of the staff and rammed the
sharp end into the demon's gut. It collapsed, gurgling,
to the ground.

'I'm guessing it's a bit late to
ask if it's okay to kill these guys,' Gunn said.

'It's okay,' Wesley told him,
'but then they were never the real problem, were they, Mr
Klein.'

'Yes, it's true, David,' Mason
said. He dragged a chair away from the table and slumped
down in it, defeated. 'It started out as a bit of fun. I
found this guy, said he sold magic weapons. I mean, how
much of a coup was that over the rest of you gamers, that
I actually owned a genuine magic weapon. Only it didn't
stop with one. It was like an addiction. I kept having to
get one more, just one more. But then my business started
getting into trouble and I needed to find cash. Fast.'

'If all you needed was money you
could have come to me, Mason,' David pointed out. 'You
know I'd always help a friend.'

'I was embarrassed, David,'
Mason replied. 'I didn't want anyone to know what a mess
I made. So I started selling off my collection of
weapons.'

'But that wasn't the worst of
it, was it, Mr Klein,' Wesley prompted.

'No,' Mason admitted. 'I
couldn't bear to part with all of my weapons so I mixed
in some fakes with the stuff I sold to Lucius.'

'And demons don't take kindly to
being cheated,' Cordelia remarked. 'We could all have
been killed because of you.'

'I know,' Mason said, burying
his head in his hands, 'and I'm sorry.'

'How much of your collection did
you sell?' Wesley asked.

'About half,' Mason said. 'Say,
fifteen weapons.'

Wesley turned to Angel.

'If that's true then we've
already traced most of them.'

He turned back to Mason.

'Mr Klein, if you're still
serious about selling your collection then I can put you
in touch with some people who will dispose of your
weapons safely.'

'Thank you,' Mason said. 'You
don't know how much that means to me.'

'I'm not doing it for you,'
Wesley said. 'I'm doing it for all those people who would
be killed if those weapons ever hit the streets. And for
all the people who have died already.'

David led Cordelia and the rest
of the gang to the door.

'So, I guess I finally got to
fight a real demon,' David said with forced enthusiasm.
'That'll be something to make the guys jealous.'

'I'm sorry about your friend,'
Cordelia said.

'I know,' David said, 'and
thanks. For what it's worth, Mason's not a bad man.'

'Not everything can be black and
white, heroes and villains,' Cordelia said wistfully.
'But don't you just wish it was.'

'Why do you think I like to
escape every now and then to a world where it is,' David
replied.

Cordelia stared up at the full
moon.

'You know, David, you think I'm
finally beginning to understand you.'

'Really?' David asked.

'Really,' Cordelia replied. 'But
only a little.'

'A little's good,' David said.

Cordelia smiled and gave him a
quick peck on the cheek. David blushed.